


Meanwhile

by olga_eulalia



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ice Cream, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2019-01-15 15:33:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12323853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olga_eulalia/pseuds/olga_eulalia
Summary: Written in response toElle's request for a modern AU in which Silver eats ice cream.Unbeta'd. Non-native speaker writing here.





	Meanwhile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ellel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellel/gifts).



> Written in response to [Elle's request for a modern AU in which Silver eats ice cream](http://ellelan.tumblr.com/post/160615492077/johnsilvcr-luke-arnold-sunglasses-x-x-x).
> 
> Unbeta'd. Non-native speaker writing here.

Flint empties the coffee cup of its contents with a tilt of his head and then leans back, drowsily watching the seagulls circle above the quay, their outspread wings fluttering in the breeze as they fly in to squabble over a piece of bread. The sunlight is twinkling on the wavelets coming in, glinting on Silver’s mirrored aviators when he returns to their table, holding two ice-cream cones.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Flint says.

“Shut up and take it,” Silver advises, urging one of the cones into his hand.

Since they’re anchoring in this small seaport town, Silver’s been connoisseuring his way through the cocktail and dessert menu at every opportunity. It’s making him a little rowdy. And a little frisky.

He plops down in the chair next to Flint, then continues to scrape it across the stone floor until he’s suitably positioned to hook a leg over Flint’s thigh. Pushing the shades to the top of his head, pinning those dancing curls out of his face, he secures Flint’s attention with a bold look just as he’s about to start in on his ice cream -- daintily removing a droplet of runny white from the rim of the waffle cone with the tip of his tongue; licking about the roundness of the scoop; whipping it into firm shape with a couple of expert strokes.

His lips come away sporting a wet sheen like fresh glacé icing. The fringe of his mustache is already a speckled mess. “Wanna taste?”

Abandoning the fruitless pursuit of articulation, Flint swipes a sample with his index finger. It’s lemon.

Underwhelmed, Silver, leaning forward, suggests, “Here. Let me try yours.”

“No,” Flint growls, taking perverse pleasure in watching Silver sink back into his chair in disappointment.

Audience be damned. And to hell with Silver’s kittenish licks. This is how it’s done: With the agonizingly slow brush of his flattened tongue he picks the sprinkles from the top of his scoop one by one, swallowing them. Then he opens his mouth wide and wraps his lips around his chocolate ice cream, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks off a large, oh-so-creamy dollop with a wet smack; savouring the sweetness of that rich cocoa flavour and letting it coat the inside of his mouth for a blissful moment, before doing it again with great aplomb, eyes on Silver.

“Hnn,” Silver says. It’s not a sunburn that paints the bridge of his nose in a rosy hue. All of his movement is arrested while he allows his brazen blue gaze to gorge itself on the sight in front of him. Eventually, he flips his sunglasses back down, confronting Flint with his own reflection -- indecency incarnate -- as he makes the shameless demonstration of his capabilities serve both as a reminder and a promise.

The woman at the table next to them puts down her book. “Thank you,” she says, receiving her lunchtime snack from the waitress. She sounds hoarse. Gulls are making gentle squawking noises on the promenade.


End file.
